


In Solitude I’ll Find You

by mystivy



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23684032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystivy/pseuds/mystivy
Summary: Roger is cooped up in his house during coronavirus quarantine, but it's okay, he's got Rafa with him.
Relationships: Roger Federer/Rafael Nadal
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	In Solitude I’ll Find You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Aditi for reading through this for me. <3

He gets up quietly in the morning, slipping out of bed and into the ensuite, and Rafa is waiting for him in the shower. He looks over his shoulder, that smile, that soft look in his eyes, and Roger sinks against him, arms around him. He’s so beautiful, already glistening. A kiss under the tiny curls at the base of his neck, a slow grind against his gorgeous ass. He’s intoxicating. “How are you here?” he whispers.

“I’m always waiting for you,” Rafa murmurs, turning in his arms and kissing him softly. 

“Yeah,” Roger replies. Lost, then, for a while, in the sensation of Rafa’s skin and the strength of his body. Roger’s mouth pressed against his shoulder, open-mouthed gasps, as he comes quietly, spilling over his hand. “You’re perfect,” he breathes in the aftermath.

He can’t spend the morning like, this, though, however much he wants to. “Papa!” Leo shouts, as they head to the kitchen. He’s already up, zooming around the kitchen in his pyjamas, Lenny trailing after him on little bare feet. 

“Where are your slippers?” Roger shouts. Rafa glances at him, a wry smile. The mornings are always like this, a tumbling kind of chaos, soft and safe. Lenny runs upstairs to get his slippers and comes back down with only one on, the second one in his hand. Leo has the TV on too loud. Mirka tames them, settling them at the table while Roger toasts bagels and pours cereal into bowls.

“Mama,” Charlene says. “Can we Skype with Oma and Opa after this?”

“Of course,” Mirka replies. “They love talking to you every day.” She takes the Nutella and milk and puts them on the table.

“How come they’re not here with us?” Myla asks.

“They don’t live here, not like Papa’s parents,” Mirka explains, leaning down and kissing her head, smoothing her hair down to soothe her. She’s explained it before, but she’s patient. Roger makes her a latte and brings it to the table. 

“At least we’re all here,” Myla says, as if she’s rationalizing things, accounting for the safety of her family.

“Yeah,” says Roger, sliding into his seat and taking Rafa’s hand in his under the table. “Everyone we love.”

The kids have settled into online schooling by now, even the boys. Leo’s boundless energy is directed by his tutors into a project to design an animal sanctuary, so after Skyping with their grandparents, it’s not long before he and Lenny have the laptop set up on the desk they share and their tutor is animatedly guiding them through designing a good sanctuary for tigers. “Which reminds me,” Roger says to Rafa, as they stack the dishes in the dishwasher. “We need to watch that documentary.”

“For sure,” Rafa says. They haven’t gotten around to it yet, even though everyone’s been talking about it. It’s even been on the ATP group chat, between all the discussions of cancelled tournaments and the stunt pulled by the French Tennis Federation, rescheduling Roland Garros. “I don’t think it’s good for the kids, though. Too many weird things, no?”

Roger agrees. “After they go to bed,” he suggests, and Rafa nods. There’s plenty to do all day, anyway, other than watch TV. “Mirka,” Roger calls, once the kitchen is in order. She’s helping the girls set up their laptops on the dinner table to get their work done. “I’m heading down to the gym.”

“Okay, babe,” she replies. 

“The towels are not straight,” Rafa says, pointing to the dishtowels hanging by the stove. Roger straightens them up and then follows him down the stairs.

The gym is cool and Rafa shivers a little. Roger puts his arms around him and kisses his cheek. “Mediterranean boy,” he murmurs, and Rafa’s face creases into a smile. “You’ll get warm.”

“Race you,” says Rafa, that competitive glint in his eye, and he’s on the treadmill before Roger has his hoodie unzipped.

They keep pace with each other perfectly. Always in tune. Rafa watches when he stretches, whistling in appreciation at his ass, which makes him giggle. Roger hates lone workouts, the pointless repetition on dull machines, but with Rafa it’s so much easier. It’s like a dance they do together, bodies in tandem. They do balance work and drills, they lift weights, and end it all with twenty lengths in the pool. Roger feels good after, and he knows it’s that Rafa pushes him. “Thanks,” he says, kissing him gently as they get out of the pool. 

Rafa raises an eyebrow at him. “Estupido,” he calls him, fondly, as if it’s absurd to thank him for anything. Rafa slings an arm around his shoulders. “I do anything with you, you know that.”

Roger does. “Come on,” he whispers in Rafa’s ear. “Do it with me in the changing room.”

Rafa’s eyes light up. “Okay,” he whispers back, and he presses Roger against the wall and kisses him hard, full of pent-up energy and heat. Rafa’s body is exquisite, it’s extraordinary, and Roger luxuriates in it, fucking him deep and hard, then slow and soft, until he’s begging to come. Breath and half-words, curses, sweat, and the long shudder of orgasm shared between them. 

Lunch is a jumble of leftovers from previous dinners, and prosciutto and cheese on crunchy seed bread that Lynette baked. Leo and Lenny are describing their tiger enclosure in detail, from the elaborate climbing tree and pool to the ill-advised petting gate. Rafa makes a face at that. “Isn’t that a little dangerous?” Roger asks, but Leo clarifies that these are _happy_ tigers, the kind that don’t bite you. “Ahh,” Roger says, and Rafa covers an indulgent smile behind his hand.

“You go on,” Mirka says to him after lunch. “I’ll clear up. Are you going outside?” 

“Yeah, I’ll go hit a few balls against the wall,” he tells her. Roger puts on his down vest over his hoodie but Rafa dresses as if he’s off on an Arctic expedition, all bundled up in a puffer jacket, a scarf and a hat. “I want to do another video,” Roger tells him. “You have to do it, with my phone.”

“Okay,” Rafa agrees, his voice a little muffled in his scarf. The tip of his nose is already a little red in the cold. “I have my gloves.” He holds up his hands to show Roger his gloves firmly pulled up under his sleeves.

“You are unbearably cute,” Roger tells him, taking his gloved hand in his own and leading him down to the court with the wall. There’s a dusting of snow on the ground but Roger does a test bounce and it’s fine. The snow is so powdery, the ball stays dry. It’s so quiet out here, that muffled, echoless silence of fresh snowfall. “I wish we could make a video of us playing on this. Then we’d have played on ice as well as fire and water and earth and air.”

“Ha,” says Rafa, who hasn’t even brought his racket. He would never dare to slide around on snow, risking his knees. “You are a crazy Switzerland person, no? Don’t fall and break your bones.”

Roger laughs softly at him. “Okay, I promise,” he says. “Here, hold the phone. I want to do a video for Instagram.”

Rafa takes it and holds it up, close up at first. “Hey guys, I just wanted to show you a little glimpse of how I’m practising at home. Again against the wall, like in the old days.” Rafa leans against the wall as Roger hits gentle shots, his feet firm on the glistening snow, advising his followers to stay at home, to listen to their local governments. And, he can’t help but add, try a few trick shots, before somehow, accidentally, he hits the phone in Rafa’s hands with the ball. Rafa catches it before it falls and Roger laughs. “Stay safe, everybody. Take care.” He’s still laughing a little when Rafa stops the recording.

“You really gonna go for a run outside later, Rogi?” Rafa asks.

“Maybe. Would you come with me?”

Rafa raises an eyebrow at him and that’s all the answer Roger gets to that question. It’s clear that Rafa thinks it’s too ridiculous for words. He sniffs and stamps his feet while Roger practices some more, scuffing the pristine snow and stopping now and then to gaze at the mountains. Roger hopes that the longer he stays here, the more his island man will fall in love with those great, craggy peaks, the way they shift from hour to hour, light and sky and day and night shimmering amongst them, woven between their slopes. Love Switzerland, he silently prays. Love Switzerland, love me, and stay. Even after all this is over, stay.

Roger posts the video once he’s inside. The kids have finished getting their exercise for the day in the pool and they’re allowed pick a movie to watch before dinner. “You go with them,” Roger says to Mirka. She’s been working with them all day, so it seems only fair she gets to rest with them. “I’ll cook.”

“This quarantine really has changed things around here,” she says. Rafa laughs softly with her.

“I’m learning,” Roger says. He kisses her on the cheek and sends her into the den with the kids. Soon they can hear the music from Frozen 2 emanating from the room. “Okay, Raf,” Roger says. “Teach me how to make a mushroom risotto.”

Rafa pulls out a stool at the kitchen island and sits with his chin on his hands. He directs Roger step by step, telling him how chop the onions very small and how to prepare the mushrooms and the stock. Then he tells him how to fry the onions, how to add the other ingredients, and how to cook the risotto, stirring and stirring. He’s so patient and so gentle, even when Roger gets impatient and adds a little too much stock. “It’s fine, no?” Rafa says. “More stirring. No problem.” When it’s nearly done, Roger calls the kids in to set the table and Mirka chooses a white wine from the fridge.

“This smells amazing, Papa,” Charlene tells him with some surprise. “You’re good at learning to cook.” Rafa beams with pride. Dinner is relaxed and happy, with the kids telling stories from their schoolwork. They’ve sheltered them as much as possible from the news so they don’t worry, even though they are aware of the basics. For them it’s a novel change of pace to stay at home for this long, anyway. 

Screen time for the kids is over after dinner. It’s time for pyjamas and books and no blue light going into their eyes so they sleep well. Once they found Leo with blue cellophane stretched over a flashlight, pointing it right into his eyes, protesting that he wanted to see if he could stay awake for a week. They make sure he doesn’t have a flashlight in his room anymore. The boys head to bed first, and a little later, the girls, who are allowed an extra hour. 

“What do you think about watching Tiger King?” Roger asks Mirka.

“Oh, that Netflix documentary?”

“Yeah. The one with the guy with the crazy hair and all the tigers.”

“Sure,” Mirka says, rearranging the pillows in the den so they can sit comfortably on the couch. Roger sits with Mirka on one side and Rafa on the other, pressed against him, his head on Roger’s shoulder. Mirka has a blanket tucked up around her. Soon into the first episode, Mirka has to put on subtitles. After two episodes, she shakes her head. “This is nuts,” she says. “And I think that’s all I can take of it tonight.”

“It’s crazy,” Roger agrees. 

Mirka yawns and stretches beside him, then stands up and folds the blanket and drapes it over the back of the couch. “You coming to bed?” she says.

Roger nods. He turns off the TV and stands up slowly, leaving behind the warmth of Rafa’s presence on the couch. He takes Mirka’s hand and, as he leaves the room, he looks back. Rafa is smiling gently at him, barely visible in the dark. “I’ll be waiting for you in the morning,” he says, a whisper in the shadows, fading now as Roger follows Mirka up the stairs. “I always am.”  



End file.
